A guy that Hubby works with raises chickens. He has given us eggs off and on for some time now. And up until today, with the exception of having to clean them myself, all has gone well.

He gave us five dozen yesterday, so I thought we would be set for a while. Hubby said he wanted some scrambled eggs for supper this evening, so I got out a bowl and some eggs and got to work. The first egg I broke had a busted yolk, but I assumed that I had done it and broke another one in the bowl. And then the scent hit my nose, and my stomach turned. I’m not sure about the second one, but the first was rotten.

I ran out the door and poured the contents of the bowl out. Then I came back in, gave myself a minute to recover, and washed the bowl. Figuring it was a fluke, I picked up another of the eggs I had washed and broke it into the bowl. And that one came extremely close to making me vomit. It looked bloody and smelled absolutely disgusting.

Once again, I ran out the door and poured it out. And then I asked Hubby if there was something else he could eat. He decided on a hot dog, so I fixed him one and sat down for a while. I was starving before I started cracking eggs, but the sights and smells curbed my appetite better than the world’s greatest diet pill.

I’ll probably throw all of those eggs out. I hate to do it on the chance that some of them might be good, but I just don’t think I can handle going through that again. I’d rather pay a dollar and change a carton at the grocery store.